Titanomachy
by Darthkvzn
Summary: With Talon in its villainous prime, Vishkar Corporation well on its way to owning the world, and the threat of a Second Omnic Crisis looming over Eurasia, the former agents of Overwatch and the new generation of heroes must unite to once more save the world. Will they be able to look past their differences and work towards a common goal? Winston certainly seems to think so...
1. Fall From Grace

**I've been kicking this idea around in my head for a little bit, but I've wanted to do an Overwatch story for a long time. I plan to do a crossover with MCU in the future, but this story is purely Overwatch. Be warned: I'm focusing on other stories at the moment, so this will only get updated sporadically.**

 **This story starts a few days after the events of "Alive", but doesn't necessarily comply 100% with canon. For instance, no one knows who the Widowmaker truly is, and Lena misses the Recall due to being incapacitated by the Talon assassin.**

 **Pairings will not be a major focus of this story, but they'll be a background feature. Don't expect every one of the typical pairings to appear. So far, the only one I'm willing to confirm is Lena/Emily, which does follow canon.**

 **These first few chapters will focus on Tracer, but don't expect that to be the case for the entire story.**

 **Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

The first thing I saw was darkness, and the first thing I felt was pain.

Fitting, I s'pose, considering my last memory was that of the infamous Talon assassin, the one they called Widowmaker, her amber eyes glinting with cruel glee, derived no doubt from her latest kill.

That's right. I had just failed in preventing Tekhartha Mondatta's murder.

" _Bloody hell_." -I whispered, my voice rough from lack of use. I was still dressed in my Tracer uniform, my guns still tucked under my arm braces, and the accelerator that kept me anchored to the timeline safely wrapped around my torso. I gingerly held a hand to my left side, and hissed in pain when I felt the swollen bruise. Experience said that was at _least_ a cracked rib.

Noises that sounded suspiciously like _explosions_ outside had me bolting upright. Rising was not without struggle, though I was thankful at least that my limbs were nothing worse than sore. Examining the darkened room I was in, I saw a chair occupied by a familiar redhead, who was softly snoring, facing the spartan cot that'd held my prone form.

Emily looked tired; her already pale skin looked almost sickly, and there were some awful bruises under her eyes. She'd not been sleeping well for some time, which led me to the worrying conclusion that I'd been out of it for a while. I took off my right glove and pressed it to her cheek. "Emily, love. Wake up."

She stirred quickly, ever the light sleeper. Her hazel eyes took a moment to focus on me, but when they did, her expression was not one of joy, but rather paradoxical anger.

" _Lena Oxton, what in blazes are you doing up!?_ " -she shouted, shooting up from her chair.

 _Oh_. I stammered. "Uh…"

Emily sighed and closed her eyes. "You have a cracked rib and a hastily repaired accelerator, Lena. You're not supposed to be up and about."

I raised an eyebrow, looking down at my chest. Indeed, the accelerator looked a little dinged up, even though I felt fine. "Really, love, I've had a lot worse. Thank you for worrying, though." -I said, holding her hand. Then I frowned; "Wait, who poked at my clock?"

Now it was her turn to raise her eyebrow, though hers was decidedly more sarcastic. "What, you don't think I could've fixed it?"

I cleared my throat. "I just know _I_ couldn't. Honestly, outside of Winston, I can't think of anyone-"

Emily rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine. It obviously wasn't me. Thought it wasn't your friend, either."

"Who, then?"

"She calls herself Brigitte. Came in a pair with one of your old friends. The massive german bloke in the even larger power armor."

Well. _That_ explained the noise outside. "Reinhardt?"

She nodded, still looking annoyed. "That's the one. _Don Quixote de Berlin_."

I snorted. "Not off base, there. What's _he_ doing here? Where _are_ we, even?"

Emily pursed her lips. "We're...still in King's Row. Winston is supposed to pick us up soon, but he's had some trouble getting out of Gibraltar, so he sent a knight in rather faded armor to keep us safe until then. _Unfortunately_ , this Reinhardt character can't seem to avoid an _honorable fight_."

I resisted the urge to groan. "Who's he picked a fight with this time?It must _really_ be bad if Winston's decided to leave the Rock."

"In all honesty, he's actually being rather noble. Since Mondatta passed away, there's been all sorts of rioting. Gotten fairly terrifying this past week. Reinhardt has been shielding the Omnics and those of us humans _humane_ enough not to hate them from the worst, ever since he and Brigitte arrived." -she said, half annoyed, half fond of the old hero.

I looked down in shame. Emily frowned. "What's wrong, Lena?"

"Emily...I'm so sorry. I _tried_ to stop Talon from killing Mondatta."

Emily was the one who actually believed in the Iris; I'd just been curious about this guy who held such influence over the masses - and my girlfriend - and thought about looking into him. I hadn't actually meant to attend his speech, but I'd been in the neighborhood - looking into some suspicious activity that I now suspected had been Widowmaker's doing - and decided to see what the leader of the Shambali was all about.

My girlfriend's eyes went a little glassy, but she toughened it out. "I know. There's footage of your fight with the Widowmaker on the rooftops. The Yard is looking to question you."

"Figures. And with Rein around, I can't imagine the U.N. is happy."

She nodded. "You know they only turn a blind eye if it's just you, or Ziegler. Two former Overwatch operatives - soon to be three - in one place sounds an awful lot like you lot are openly defying the Petras Act."

Pouting, I crossed my arms. "I wish."

"Sweetheart, I love you, and respect that you're an adult capable of making your own reckless choices, but I expressly forbid any sort of superheroic nonsense for _at least_ the next twenty-four hours. You shouldn't even be moving."

I groaned. "Emily, there's _rioting!_ Innocent people could get hurt!"

" _You_ are _already_ hurt! You'll only get yourself killed if you try to help." -she shot back, her face constricted by worry.

"Love, you know me. I can't just _sit_ here." -I said, then sighed. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, I'll try to stick behind Rein's shield, yeah?"

Emily pursed her lips, but I was right. We'd been together long enough that she knew I just couldn't stand by while people needed my help. "Fine, Lena. But I'm coming with you." -she said, putting an open hand between us, which I quickly filled with one of my pistols.

"I _knew_ I loved you for a reason."

She scoffed. "You mean _besides_ the mind-blowing sex?"

I cackled. "Two reasons, then."

* * *

 **Couple of notes/headcanons:**

 **In-game dialogue shows Tracer as an admirer of Mondatta's. And she eventually becomes this, but at first (at least in my headcanon) she doesn't really know the Omnic monk as more than an important religious figure - sort of as someone who's an atheist would know the Pope exists. It's Emily who's actually a follower of the Shambali philosophy.**

 **On that vein, I see Tracer as an atheist. She's actually been a "ghost" and was unimpressed by the afterlife. Joking aside, she's seen a lot of crap in her time as Tracer and before. She couldn't bear to believe in a god that allows for things like that to happen. Make of that what you will.**

 **Emily knows how to shoot, but maybe not Tracer's pulse pistols. She's bound to get a surprise as soon as she pulls the trigger. It's not easy to aim the bloody things.**

 **The pulse pistols use and have used the same 40 rounds of ammunition since they were built. They use the same tech as Tracer's chronal accelerator to "retrieve" the bullets shot from the past, and back into the ammo pack.**

 **The "Reflections" comic shows Tracer as able to walk around without her harness, as long as it's docked nearby. I'm modifying that, as I think it makes the chronal accelerator a very small issue in her life; instead, Tracer wears a choker/bracelet/belt/anklet combination to keep her body rooted in the timeline. It's elaborate and doesn't go with _anything_ , but at least it saves her from needing to use the full harness all the time. The "casual" accelerator does not support Tracer's abilities, it merely does the passive anchoring.**

 **Until next time!**


	2. Tranquility

Outside was chaos, which, fair, I expected. Reinhardt Wilhelm was seemingly having the time of his life, laughing boisterously at the rocks and Molotov cocktails crashing against the glowing particle shield projected from the lion's head on his left arm. Beside him, a short, brunette young woman whose face was obscured by a welding mask seemed to be actively repairing the Crusader armor's right knee joint, heedless of the violence immediately on the other side of the shield.

The crowd had formed a rough semicircle around Reinhardt, some of them only shouting and toting anti-Omnic propaganda, while the ones closest to the german juggernaut were of a much more violent persuasion. London police was nowhere to be seen, as was usual in the lower reaches of King's Row; seeing the number of people, Omnic and human alike, sprawled on the ground behind Reinhardt's protection, had me scowling in anger; Scotland Yard once again proved it couldn't be trusted. I'd learned that lesson very early on, long before I'd become Tracer.

I zoomed past Reinhardt, and around his impenetrable shield, knocking the attackers' weapons off their hands, and throwing them aside. Then, I zipped on top of Rein's left shoulder, striking my most heroic pose. " _Oi!_ What in blazes do you all think you're doing?"

This gave the crowd pause; my popularity 'round my old stomping grounds was fairly high, so I felt confident in my ability to defuse the situation.

"Are you lot animals, lashing out like this? What'd these people ever do to you?"

The crowd muttered uncertainly, but some burly git with a megaphone and a _military-issue pulse rifle_ rallied the crowds. " _Those_ clankers _and their lap dogs are going to get us all killed!_ "

I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes. "Oh, _sod off_ , you wanker. These blokes aren't even OR-10s, let alone Bastion units!"

" _They've brought Talon to the Row!_ "

"Did they? Or was it your bigotry and violence that attracted 'em? They are _oh_ so fond of racists. Makes a job easier for terrorists."

The leader was losing the crowd, some of the hateful signs slowly lowering. The 'leader' raised his weapon. " _Don't listen to this washout! What does she know about Talon, huh?_ " -he turned to me. " _Couldn't stop 'em from killing the monk, could you, cunt?_ "

Reinhardt cackled dangerously beneath me. " **You seem to have misplaced your honor, friend! Shall we find it where you left your courage?** "

The leader ignored him, turning back towards the crowd. " _Are we gonna let these rust-lovers tell us what to do?_ "

A few of the more violent people shouted in the negative. I frowned; this was strangely familiar; like something out of…

Fuck. Like something out of Reyes' Blackwatch playbook.

There were rumors, back then. Some of them, still around, said that Blackwatch had actively worked to take down Overwatch from within _and_ without. That maybe some of the protests in the later days hadn't been entirely honest - that perhaps, some of Reyes' operatives had been planted amongst the protesters, incensing the crowds and provoking violence against Overwatch agents, trying to goad them into hitting back.

"Reinhardt, " -I said, grabbing onto my single pistol a little tighter. "...does this seem _familiar_ to you?"

" _ **Verräter!**_ **Talon plants...they will attack in but a moment!** " -he growled, nodding as he hefted his massive warhammer in preparation.

The woman who called herself Brigitte rose, flipping up the welding mask. "Guess that explains the guns." -she said, sarcastically, hefting a rivet gun for defense.

I glanced at Emily, who was focusing on holding my other pistol the way I'd taught her to. "Stay behind Rein, love. We'll handle this."

She nodded as Reinhardt laughed at the crowd slowly advancing on us, as if they were still unsure. " **Don't worry, my friends.** _ **I**_ **am your shield!** "

The leader charged, then, shooting blue pulse bolts that were easily absorbed by Rein's rectangular barrier. Those behind him started to throw rocks and bottles at us again. Brigitte wasted no time in shooting her heavy duty rivet gun, aiming at the attackers' feet. A few pained grunts told us she had fairly good aim. Emily and I set our pistols to low energy - enough to burn, but not to burn _through_ \- and fired as well. The twenty rounds went by in an instant or two, mine mostly on target, Emily's shots going _way_ off towards the sky.

Pulse pistols are _not_ _quite_ an old Glock, I thought, amused.

I reloaded, the tiny chronal accelerator on my gun returning the fired bolts to the charger, then fired again. Those unhurt by our attack - the leader included - crashed against Rein's shield trying to push him back. The german juggernaut was inordinately strong, however, and instead pushed _back_ , most of the people toppling over like dominoes. The leader, and a few other likely Talon agents, got over and around the shield, and fired at Reinhardt point blank.

The Crusader armor was designed to shrug off the physical projectiles of the regular guns the other agents had pulled once in range, but the heated bolts from the leader's pulse rifle started to weaken the silver plates. Beside us, the agents targeted both Brigitte and Emily, while another agent prepared to lob a grenade over to the ailing people behind us.

Tough situation, I wager, for someone who can't mess with the timeline.

I zipped off Rein's shoulder, palm striking the leader and kicking the powerful rifle out of his hands. Then I zoomed upwards, catching the grenade and tossing it as far into the abandoned building I'd stayed at as possible. Next up was saving Brigitte and Emily, but the worst thing happened: my accelerator blinked out and went on stand-by mode.

Unable to alter my direction, I free-fell, which Reinhardt noticed, dropping his hammer and grabbing me before I hit the ground.

I immediately tried to jump towards my girlfriend, but I could see - could _feel -_ that I wouldn't make it.

Before I could shout in despair, however, a couple of bolts of blue light streaked past us, and slammed into the foreheads of the presumed Talon operatives. They immediately fell to the ground, dead.

Emily vomited, while Brigitte only grimaced. I turned backwards, and saw Emily's savior: an Omnic dressed in Shambali robes, who I'd thought of as one of the victims at first.

The Omnic looked to be a fairly recent model, post-Crisis for sure. Its chassis' paint was chipped, and the metal itself was worn - the equivalent to what one would find in a human who lived in a harsh environment. It walked towards us, a few orbs inscribed with Omnic runes _floating_ around its neck.

I'd heard of the Shambali monks' seemingly reality-bending powers. Science could not yet explain their abilities - something that had caused _long_ , indecipherable debates between the more scientifically oriented members of Overwatch - but then a few years back, mine had been the same. I believed it to be only a matter of time. And willingness, on the part of the reclusive monks.

The gathered crowd paused at the brutality of the Omnic. It regarded us for a moment, then sat, Lotus-style, _in mid-air_. Of course, since that wasn't impressive enough, it began to glow golden, the orbs around its neck arranging themselves over its head and shoulders, and it sprouted three extra pairs of golden, translucent arms.

A sort of tiny tornado formed around the monk, its golden light expanding and encompassing us. " _ **Embrace tranquility**_ **.** ", it said, as the light washed over us. I felt...calm. The anger I'd felt at the Talon plants, the pain from my rib, the approaching muscle aches from zipping around...it all went away. All I felt was bliss.

The Omnic floated towards the crowd, which tried to back up - but the golden aura washed over them, too. One by one, their makeshift weapons dropped, their propaganda was discarded. I watched in wonder, Reinhardt dropping the blue film in similar astonishment, as the crowd simply...dispersed.

Soon enough, the golden glow surrounding the Omnic disappeared. It softly landed back on its feet, then turned toward us, walking slowly, its hands clasped in front of its chest and its head dipped low as if in prayer.

My accelerator flared to life once more, so I zipped over to the monk. "We owe you one, mate. What's your name?"

The Omnic regarded me for a second. " _There is a weight about you, human. The flow of time pools around your form, bathes you in its waters. Anchors you. You exist, and yet not. Curious._ "

I blinked. "Uh...sure? Are you talking about my clock?"

It cocked its head. " _I am Tekartha Zenyatta. You are Lena Oxton, the one they call Tracer. I would seek your aid_."

* * *

 **Headcanons:**

 **I don't much care about balance. This is a story, not a game. Thus, Zenyatta is a powerful being. You _don't_ mess with a magical warrior robot monk.**

 **In the same vein, Tracer's accelerator usually affords her near-speedster abilities. "Charges" are not a thing for her...except for right now. Her clock is damaged, so she can't quite abuse her artificial speed as much.**

 **Tracer has taught Emily how to shoot a gun. An old, early twenty-first century Glock. Not, unfortunately, her pistols.**

 **Reinhardt is strong enough to literally push back a crowd of at least 30+ people. How that translates I'm not sure, but the last Crusader is _strong_. Zarya is still stronger than not-suited Rein, though.**


	3. The Safest Path

I could get used to floating orbs healing my ribs. It's _odd_ , mind you, but a lot less uncomfortable than Angie's staff, my rewind, or Ana's half-hearted attempts at patching us up. Emily, Zenyatta, and myself were sat in the room I'd woken up in, now occupied by several resting 'patients'. Reinhardt was sleeping in the room over, from which we could hear Brigitte cursing in german at, I presume, the old silver armor.

"That's a pretty nifty power, Zen; how'd you do it? Also, can I call you Zen?"

The Omnic bowed its head, recalling the golden orb. " _Focusing the Iris' gaze on someone other than oneself is no simple matter; one's identity must be at complete harmony with their purpose. I am a warrior, a teacher, and a healer. I exist to aid others. Thus, I share my harmony with those who lack it._ " -it explained, twirling its orbs around its hand. " _You may indeed call me Zen, Lena Oxton_."

Emily seemed taken with the Omnic, though I s'pose that's what happens when you see your religion actually _exist_ before your eyes. "You said you were called Tekartha, are you and Mondatta…?"

" _Brothers? Yes, Emily Grace. Mondatta and I were created in the same line, in the same Omnium_. _We were meant as servants for wealthy humans, but we were found...defective. Wanting. Where I found despair, my brother found peace, and eventually, he shared it with me. I have wandered, spreading this peace where I go ever since._ "

"Until now…"

The Omnic did not hide its sorrow. " _Indeed. I miss him greatly._ "

I crossed my arms, looking at the floor. "I...I tried to stop his death. I'm sorry, Zenyatta. I failed."

Zen hummed. " _Be at peace, Lena Oxton. Mondatta was worthy before the Iris' gaze; he has passed on._ "

Emily gasped. "He has Transcended?"

" _Yes. My brother is now beyond the pains and troubles of this plane. For a moment, we all shared in his peace._ "

I raised an eyebrow. "Was that the glowy tornado thing you did?"

Zenyatta giggled a little. " _I have never heard Transcendence be described as such, but I suppose it is an apt visual analogy._ "

Emily turned red. "I'm sorry, Master Zenyatta. My girl isn't much of a believer."

Zen held up a hand. " _It is no issue. The Iris sees us all, regardless of belief._ "

She nodded. I sighed. "So, what's the deal? Why'd a Shambali monk want our help?"

The Omnic once again sat cross-legged in mid-air. " _My brother summoned me to London not long ago. Though we did not always see eye to eye, I would never deny him such a request. Thus, I interrupted my journey._ "

The orbs around his neck began to spin. " _Upon arrival, I learned of his passing. He had not mentioned a clear motive behind his summons, but it became clear to me, upon lengthy meditation, that he had foreseen his death. I retraced Mondatta's steps, and they led me to his hotel. In it, I found a journal, meant only for me._ "

He produced a datapad, filled with undecipherable Omnic script. " _This details a heinous plan my brother uncovered. Terrorists, who mean to eradicate the peaceful Omnic population clustered in the lower reaches of King's Row, and perhaps, beyond._ "

Emily paled. "How?"

I shook my head, appalled. "An EMP, most likely. If they mean to kill only the Omnics, that'd be the way to do it."

" _You are correct. Talon seeks to detonate such a device in London's Underworld._ "

Reinhardt walked in then, clad only in the Crusader's undersuit. "Er...excuse me, _Robotermönch_ , did I hear you say someone plans to _sprengen_ King's Row?"

"We've gotta stop them, Gramps. Your armor still in one piece?"

The massive german nodded. " _Ja_. It has seen better days, but Brigitte has repaired it enough to fight in."

"Then we're taking on Talon. Zen, you coming?"

" _I look forward to joining you in battle, fellow warriors._ "

Emily stood up. "I want to join you."

I frowned. "Yeah, I don't think so, love. Talon isn't _quite_ an angry mob."

"So, what, just you four are gonna take on a terrorist army?"

Brigitte piped up from somewhere behind Reinhardt. " _Them_ three! I'm a _mechanic_ , not a goddamn commando, _um Gottes Willen._ "

Emily side-eyed me, as if her point had been proven, which it had _not_. "You lot need help, and I _mostly_ know how to shoot. You can't afford to leave me here."

" _I_ can't afford to lose you, Emily. You're pretty much all I've left these days."

"Do you think I'm ready to lose _you!?_ "

Zenyatta hummed. " _Perhaps a compromise is in order. The challenges we are to face are much greater than any you have met so far, Emily Grace. It would not be fair to yourself to fight this battle. Perhaps, instead, you could remain here and defend the wounded_."

Emily's lips thinned, clearly displeased but unwilling to contradict the Shambali monk. "I...are you sure I can't help you out there?"

I pecked her cheek. "Maybe you could raise Winston from here? If he's on his way, he might be able to help us some."

She scoffed, but nodded. "Ok. Take care of yourselves out there."

Zen put a hand on her shoulder. " _The Iris watches over us, Emily Grace. We tread the safest path_."

* * *

The London Underworld was, as you'd expect, a dark place, accentuated mostly by the crimson glow of the foundries continuously churning out Omnic parts - the Underworld's biggest industry, and a major draw for Omnics the world over. It was one of the few sanctioned places left in Europe for this process, creating everything from your garden variety steel plating to the most sophisticated of positronic brain components. In my experience, it also had some of the best pubs in the Row.

Mondatta's notes were fairly straightforward, once translated: a platoon of Talon agents had set up in an abandoned warehouse - surprise, surprise - where they would build the EMP device, load it up on a trolley, and activate it smack-dab in the middle of the Underworld. What they planned to get out of that, other than the sadistic pleasure of murdering a few thousand innocent 'bots, I didn't really know. They seemed to be creating more sympathy than hatred towards the Omnics with their London campaign, which really didn't gel with their usual M.O.

Oh, well. Food for thought, most likely Winston's.

Either way, we happy few found ourselves staking out the warehouse, which was, in fact, abandoned. At least, it seemed that way at first glance, but I quickly spotted a couple of snipers. Not great ones, to be fair, as they failed to pick up the broad with the glowing chest, the massive german war machine, and the floating Omnic.

"That journal mention when they were moving out?" -I asked Zen.

He shook his head. " _Not precisely. But it will happen today._ "

" _ **We wait, then**_ **.** " -Reinhardt said, laying down his warhammer, and activating the helm's hydraulic release. The metal casing slowly retracted behind his head.

I sat down, cross-legged. "Yeah. So, Rein, what're you and your squire doing around Old Blighty?"

Reinhardt cocked his now uncovered head. "As always, it is a pleasure trying to decipher your words, _Junge_ Lena. Brigitte and I have been travelling the world, righting injustice as we encounter it. Alas! _Es ist undankbare Arbeit_. Thankless work, at least where coin is concerned. Brigitte wished to visit the Underworld, so that we may acquire some much needed _mechanische Teile_. Parts, for the Crusader." -he said, flexing the hand - which could easily encircle my torso. "I fear the armor has not aged as well as I."

I snorted. "Confident much? You're pushing seventy, aren't you mate?"

He shrugged, a much more intimidating gesture than you'd imagine, given his massive pauldrons. " _Alter ist nur eine Zahl_. I can still fight, and I will do so until my last breath. Of all former Overwatch agents, I would expect you to understand this most."

And, yeah, I did. The thing is, Overwatch gave me something no one else really had: a chance. You wouldn't think it if you saw me now, but there'd been a time when I had absolutely nothing. Not even half a meal to appease the belly. I was lanky and queer, too brash, too angry to be of much use to anyone. And yeah, I had a thing for spacial awareness, but in the Row, the only thing that's good for is dodging the plod.

"I get it, Rein. I really do. I meant what I said to Em. Aside from her, all I've got going for me these days is a couple hundred charges of vigilantism the Yard'll never act on. I don't think we're a good fit for any society that's not the 'watch."

He nodded, awkwardly scratching at his wicked eye scar with his paw of a hand. "The world may not want us, but people need us."

Zenyatta hummed. " _It is as you say: the world could always use more heroes_."

I giggled. "Are you a fan, Zen?"

" _I...have tried to understand popular culture, in my exile. For the most part, this has been without favorable results. Overwatch and its heroes, however, were sufficiently memorable._ "

I looked at Reinhardt, who grinned madly. "We'll sign whatever, don't you worry."

The Omnic seemed...flustered, but then stood at attention. " _Perhaps later. I sense danger comes._ "

* * *

The safest path, as it turns out, is still pretty flippin' dangerous.

I crouched behind Reinhardt's shield, taking potshots at a barricade of Talon agents currently defending the mother of all Omnic-killing payloads. They had a nice setup going, with good cover and clear firing lines - six men flanking the halted trolley, and about a dozen on and around the actual bomb. If we hadn't had Reinhardt's huge particle barrier, we'd be see through by now, pumped full of lead.

The snipers had seen us, alright. Not right away, but, in retrospect, maybe we shouldn't have stopped to have a chat. They'd come out guns blazing, and we'd been forced to defend while they carted the bomb around and towards the lower reaches of the Underworld. Eventually, we'd broken through their rear guard, and we were now at a sort of stalemate; they didn't have enough men to keep throwing at us, and had been forced to make a stand, while we didn't have a good angle to just take 'em all out yet.

We were doing well, though. Rein seemed refreshed and about forty years younger than he actually was, taunting at our enemies and their inability to get past his barrier. Zenyatta was frightening, even for me. The Omnic monk had little to no compassion for his enemies, pulling his weight by accurately sniping the agents careless enough to poke their heads out and keeping us in tip-top shape with his odd little spheres. He definitely had the most notches on his...arm, I guess. On top of that, he was protected by some kind of barrier as well, so even on the rare occasions he was hit - the metal bloke did have a penchant for straying from the german's shield - he could shrug it off with ease.

I was severely limited; my accelerator had been mostly fixed, but I was still restricted to these 'charges', so as to not overload and undo the patch work. My full abilities would have to wait until I met up with Winston. Still, I could blink about thrice and rewind every minute or so.

Either way, we were stuck.

"Rein, we need to break through! Can you still do your charge?"

" _ **My back will not appreciate it, Meine Liebste, but I can.**_ "

"Ok, then we're pulling a retro! Get ready! Zen, keep them pinned down! I'm going to pop those flanks!"

I blinked forward, past the barrier and in a slanted line to my right, firing all the way. The Talon operatives took their shots, which I felt whiz past me, but missed. I tossed a bomb from my back at the cluster straight in front of me, then zipped across to the other three, and left them my last explosive. Then, I rewound time.

By the time I was back to my original position, the operatives had been consumed by a couple of fireballs. Reinhardt dropped the barrier, and the turbine at his back came to violent life, explosively propelling all two tons of him across the barricade and straight into a _really_ unlucky bloke who failed to dive out of the way. Rein crushed the agent against the trolley with a sickening sound, then hefted his massive warhammer, and _swung_.

Kids, this next part you should probably skip.

There was no _spilling_ , thank god, but boy, that hammer breaks people _fast_. It was originally meant to crush military-grade Omnic titanium shells; Kevlar and steel were about as effective as a wet bog roll against a...well, a hammer. The bloody thing was _rocket-propelled_ and swung by a man who could bench _tanks_ , so you can imagine how that went. The twelve-man defense held for about two and a half swings. Plus a couple of shots courtesy of Zen and I, of course.

"What, no headshot for this one?" -I asked the monk, who'd shot at the agent's chest, for once.

" _I have been known to miss_."

Reinhardt roared and flexed a little, which I kinda forgot he used to do after a fight. Weird, but everyone's got their quirks, I guess. Zenyatta, for his part, got up to the bomb, which was crackling ominously.

"What's it doing?"

An electric arc sparked towards Zen, who recoiled for a second upon contact. " _...it appears the device is protected against tampering._ " -he said, flexing his fingers.

Reinhardt shrugged, and started to work on ripping the device apart with his gauntlets. The powerful arcs danced all over the silver armor, harmlessly, but when Rein touched the actual metal, the bloody thing started to _beep_.

" _Shyte!_ It's got a kill switch!" -I said, holstering my guns.

The bomb came to life, and the countdown started to audibly speed up. Zenyatta turned to one of the downed agents, the one he'd chest-shot and was thus not _as_ broken. The Omnic glowed golden, and thrust his palm onto the agent's mask, a couple of his orbs moving away from his neck and over the dead agent's head and chest.

"What're you doing?"

" _Calling on her departing soul for answers._ "

"You're _resurrecting_ her!?"

"No _. I would not deny her the peace of her passing._ "

Reinhardt growled. " _ **Hurry, my friends! The enemy closes!**_ "

Indeed, I heard a whole bunch of boots drumming on the pavement, a couple moments away from shooting us up. The german preempted their ambush by yelling a war cry and charging towards the incoming force, leaving us alone. And, y'know, unprotected.

Beside me, Zenyatta rose, the orbs returning to his neck. " _There is no way to defuse the bomb. There is no choice: we must destroy it_."

I groaned. "I have no bombs left!"

" _My orbs are not powerful enough to damage the core_." -the Omnic replied, sounding, for the first time since I'd heard him, slightly _not_ calm.

I looked towards Reinhardt, who was probably off having fun with half a platoon of Talon goons, but I didn't have any chance to begrudge the big lug, as a bloody _pillar of light_ shot up from the top of the bomb. Zenyatta shook for a second, then dropped dead, his inner workings sparking. We were too late.

 _Sod off, Oxton_ , I thought. _You're_ never _too late._

The accelerator blinked, as if protesting my train of thought, but I had already decided. Broken clock or not, I concentrated on the past, and did what I do best: flipped off Father Time and ditched the _hell_ out of this timeline.


End file.
